


six tickets

by EmeraldTulip



Series: Curiosity Voyage [5]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Anxiety, Dermatillomania, Gen, I also love will being friends with the Best Girls!, M/M, One Shot, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, yes im projecting on fictional characters again and what about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 16:53:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18877285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldTulip/pseuds/EmeraldTulip
Summary: Mike’s hands are still on the steering wheel, and they’re motionless in the Byers’ driveway, but Will isn’t making any move to get out. He doesn’t even realize he’s wringing his hands until Mike’s fingers are suddenly off the wheel and on his own.Or:“Will,” she says. “You’re bleeding again.”





	six tickets

**Author's Note:**

> me? projecting onto fictional characters? never.
> 
> hope y'all enjoy!
> 
> [tw for dermatillomania (skin-picking disorder) and blood (it's super minor).]

_Thwip. Thwip. Thwip._

The rhythm drowns out her voice, turns it to a mumble in his ear. Only when she takes hold of his shoulder does he startles back into reality.

“Will,” she says. “You’re bleeding again.”

Will whispers a curse as he notices the red dripping from the side of his palm onto his desk, lifting his chin from where it had been resting on his hand. “Shit.”

“Byers! Hopper!” Mr. Howard barks across the room. “Eyes on the board, not on each other.”

Will stifles a gag at the implication, because El is (basically) his sister, dammit. He holds up his hand instead. “Sorry, sir. Paper cut.”

Will avoids Howard's glare, taking the sleeve of his shirt and rubbing at the stains. El says nothing as she rummages through her bag for a sunny yellow bandaid. She passes it over, and the moment their fingers touch, Will hears her voice.

_You can’t keep doing this to yourself._

He wrenches the bandaid from her, hating how his hand shakes. Instead of looking at her, he focuses on peeling the back off the bandage, wrapping it around the ravaged cuticle on his right pinky.

He has it under control.

* * *

“Mike, you’re awful at this,” Will laughs as Mike once again fails to win anything from the machine.

Dustin and Lucas are more into the video games at the Palace. But Mike has always been old-school, so on the rare occasions the others are busy, Will accompanies him to the other arcade across town. It’s sparse but has games that spit out tickets, and Will wonders if that’s a thing for Mike - if he prefers something solid to this budding digital age.

Mike throws up his hands in defeat. “This is rigged. I’m calling it.” He doesn’t seem particularly annoyed, though. “Prize time!”

They make their way over to the prize station, and Will notices the meager six tickets clutched in Mike’s grip. His nails bite into his palm, his heart rate suddenly skyrocketing for no reason - well, regular old anxiety. “You can get another checkerboard thing!” he says, trying to maintain Mike’s enthusiasm instead of panicking.

Mike never earns enough for bigger prizes, but he seems pleased with the spinning tops and table bowling sets and other cheap toys that he’ll let Will pick through. He’s amassed an impressive collection of rubber bracelets that have become at home on his right arm. The black ones (three tickets) are most plentiful, but there are a few scattered solid-colored ones (four tickets) and even a single black-and-white checked one (six tickets).

But Mike looks uncertain, and his eyes dart down Will’s arm. Will, suddenly, is very conscious of the fact that his own right hand is pressing lines into his left, nails bringing red to the surface. Will always tries not to get to restless while he watches Mike play - the arcade management isn’t fond of bloodstains in the carpet - but more often than not he slips up.

He’s so caught up in this thought that he doesn’t move while Mike trades in his tickets. Before he knows it, Mike is holding something out for him to take - a multi-color pencil.

“But, Mike, that’s four tickets,” Will says, instantly realizing how stupid that sounds.

Mike grins. “Yeah. It’s for you.” (There's a two-ticket sticker in his other hand.)

 _He could have gotten something he wanted for himself,_ Will thinks. _But_.

He wonders if maybe this is what love is.

* * *

Max’s voice cuts through the silence between them like a knife.

“Will, jeez,” she sighs, reaching into her jacket pocket. “You’re gonna bleed out, at this rate.”

He accepts the skin-colored bandaid she hands him, grateful she doesn’t carry bright, childish ones like El does. (Grateful that only he and Max share a lunch period, so only she has to deal with his shit.) He sticks it around his thumb, and the tan joins a group composed of yellow, purple, and stars. “Yeah, I know.”

She doesn’t say what he knows she wants to. Doesn’t tell him to stop. Doesn’t even tell him to try to find another outlet for the tension that bubbles to the surface. She’s already said it, in more ways that one, and if nothing else Will is at least glad they’re in the same boat - that she understands.

“So,” she says instead. “You and Mike still down for the movies with me and Lucas tomorrow?”

He taps his heel against the linoleum of the cafeteria floor. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

He watches her fidget with a dollar coin, passes it from hand to hand. He just picks at the edge of his new bandage.

* * *

Will realizes, suddenly, that neither of them are moving.

Mike’s hands are still on the steering wheel, and they’re motionless in the Byers’ driveway, but Will isn’t making any move to get out. He doesn’t even realize he’s wringing his hands until Mike’s fingers are suddenly off the wheel and on his own.

Mike’s hands are clammy, his nails bitten down. Will looks at Mike’s bracelets, the rubber ones won from the arcade; he thinks about the small mountain of trinkets in his room, a box full of little gifts from Mike that mean _everything_.

He reaches over the center console of the car, pinches one of the black bands between his thumb and forefinger, pulls. Reminds himself that this is real, Mike is real, _Will_ is real.

“Hey,” Mike says suddenly, and then he’s tugging his checkerboard bracelet off of his wrist. “Hey. Here.”

He shoves it into Will’s hand, closes his torn fingers over it.

“But -”

“It’s _yours_ ,” Mike insists. “I’m giving it to you.”

Will swallows the sudden lump in his throat. _He wants me to have it. He wants to help._

_He loves me._

It’s a sudden realization that is really not very shocking, but still, Will is caught off-guard.

“This was six tickets,” he says thickly, instead of all the things he wants to tell Mike.

Mike laughs.

_He loves me._

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are, as always, appreciated.  
> find me on tumblr, my main is [@willelbyers](https://willelbyers.tumblr.com) and my writing blog is [@lowriting](https://lowriting.tumblr.com)!


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